


(all i wanna get is) a little bit closer

by Ceebee



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Cock Rings, Comfort/Angst, F/M, First Time, Foreplay, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Premature Ejaculation, Sex Toys, Touch-Starved, a majority of this is the +1 oops, bisexual Matt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4192815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceebee/pseuds/Ceebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Matt, uh, jumps the gun, and one time Foggy makes sure he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(all i wanna get is) a little bit closer

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/2760.html?thread=4494792#cmt4494792) on the kink meme.
> 
> I know OCs aren't everyone's thing so in the end notes I've done a break down of who's with who in each part, as well as any warnings :3
> 
> ~~I am desperately seeking a beta! I've put details[here](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1097.html?thread=5426761#cmt5426761), if anyone's interested?~~
> 
> Thanks a gazillion to lovely [marmolita](http://archiveofourown.org/users/marmolita) for giving this a beta <3
> 
> Title is from Tegan and Sara's 'Closer'

**1.**

“What is it?” Matt asks, feeling the tip of Ria’s pen pressing into the back of his hand. They’re in math, and Matt’s not listening to the teacher - he knows Ria will be able to explain it to him in a way he can actually understand later.

“Can’t you tell? C’mon, it’s _so_ easy.”

Matt knows it’s a triangle, but he’s good at playing up the whole ‘I’m-blind-with-no-enhanced-senses-to-make-up-for-it’ thing. Plus, he likes the feel of Ria’s fingers holding his wrist still, and the glide of the pen over his skin. “Do it again?” he asks.

She huffs quietly and he can feel the air move and the soft warmth of her breath. “There,” she says when she’s done.

“Hmm,” he runs his fingers over the shape. “Triangle?”

“Well done, genius.” She’s smiling - Matt can hear it in her voice, uplifted. He grins back at her and feels his heart skip a little in his chest.

They walk the same way home. Usually, he turns left at the corner and heads in the direction of St Agnes’, and she turns right, but today she catches hold of his hand.

“Hey, do you…” she hesitates, then plows on with the air of someone taking a running leap off the edge of a cliff. “D’you wanna come back to my place? I asked my parents last night and they’re totally cool with it. You know, for dinner, or whatever.”

Matt knows his gaze is directed towards their linked hands even though he can’t see them. He can feel every inch of where they’re touching and it’s incredible, and he wants to hold her hand forever. “I, uh,” he blinks from behind his tinted glasses, digs his teeth into his bottom lip. There’s a curfew, sort of. The nuns will worry if he’s back late, but he’s fifteen, for Christ’s sake, and he really does _like_ Ria. Maybe even _like_ like her. Like, a lot. 

“Yeah,” he finds himself saying. “Yeah, that’d be really good.”

It’s a ten minute walk to her house and after about five he makes her stop so he can fold up his cane and shove it into his backpack. It makes her a little breathless and her heartbeat speeds up for a fraction of a second when he takes her hand again.

“You sure you trust me that much?” she asks, playfully bumping her shoulder with his, but he knows it is in part a serious question.

He shrugs, smiling. “Sure I do.”

Her mom’s in the kitchen when they get there and Matt just about has time to call out a hasty greeting before he’s being tugged upstairs and into Ria’s room. 

It’s small and cluttered, and she lets go of his hand to hurry ahead and pick up some of the stuff that litters the floor, either to chuck it haphazardly onto the desk in the corner, or kick it under the twin bed. 

“Sorry,” she says. “So much shit everywhere…”

“It’s fine,” Matt assures her, allowing his fingers to flutter out to either side, brushing against the wall and a bookshelf before his shins connect with her bedframe, and he sits down. A few seconds later, she collapses beside him. Her hair is long and, Matt imagines, dark. He doesn’t think she’s washed it in a couple of days but he can still smell traces of the conditioner she uses...some kind of honey extract. 

They sit quietly for a few seconds while Matt casts around for something to say. Eventually, he turns to her and tries, “So, are triangles your favourite sh--”

But she kisses him before he can finish the question. 

She kisses him and it’s sort of what Matt had expected to happen when she invited him over, but at the same time he hates to be presumptuous so it’s sort of _not_ what he expected, and shit, she must have done this before because she obviously knows what she’s doing whereas Matt...he honestly doesn't have a fucking clue. Her tongue slides over his bottom lip and he gasps, lets his mouth fall open, can’t stop himself from playing with her hair, and then reaches around to grasp at her back, the pads of his fingers pressing against her skin through her school shirt, and he can feel her bra-strap underneath, and _woah_. 

_Forget hand-holding_ , he thinks. And then she bites tentatively at his lip and lets her hand fall high up on his thigh, and then he can’t think of much else at all.

He feels himself seize up and he grabs her shoulders, mouth open, and she stills in surprise.

Yeah. He just...fuck. He just fucking _came_.

“Shit,” he breathes, working to loosen his fingers. “Shit, Ria, I’m so--”

“It’s cool,” she says, and she sounds like she’s about to laugh. Matt groans, and covers his face with his hands. 

He doesn’t stay for dinner ( _Sticky_ , he explains, with some mortification) but she kisses him again, for reasons unfathomable to Matt, and tells him that triangles are, in fact, her favourite shape. Although he can’t see them, he hopes the ones on the back of his hand don’t fade for at least a few days.

**2.**

Matt hasn’t been looking forward to prom. It’s just another one of those things to get through - another obstacle before he can get out of here, go to college, do what he wants to do, be who he wants to be.

Besides, he doesn’t have a date. At least, not a proper one. Somehow, he doesn’t think that Jerome ‘Meet Me In The Toilets’ Jackson counts.

“Is this your first time?” Jerome asks, and he’s got a fistful of Matt’s suit jacket, his lips close to Matt’s ear. Matt rolls his eyes - he _really_ doesn’t want to listen to Jerome regurgitate whatever his favourite lines are from the terrible porn he undoubtedly watches.

“Can we just,” he rolls his hips as much as he can with Jerome pressing him against the door of the stall. “Get on with it?”

“Aw, come on,” Jerome bends his neck and grazes his teeth behind Matt’s ear and, okay, that actually feels pretty good. “Just wanna show my date a good time.”

Matt can’t help laughing and gives Jerome’s side a little pinch for good measure. “ _Please_. Date? You’re so deep in the closet it took me the whole of high school to find you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jerome doesn’t sound too troubled. “Bet I’ve still been with more guys than you, though.”

And that’s...almost definitely true, seeing as Matt’s never actually been with a guy, but he’s not about to tell Jerome that. “Just...do that thing again, yeah? With your teeth.”

Jerome’s lips curve against his skin before he bites and sucks, and Matt’s pretty sure he’s going to have bruises, but who the hell cares anyway. It feels fucking _amazing_. “This?” Jerome asks, moving further down his neck until, _God_ , he’s mouthing along Matt’s collarbone. Matt let’s his head fall back with a _thunk_ against the door.

“Y-yeah,” he manages. “That.”

He wants fingers in his hair at the same time as he wants Jerome undoing his pants, sliding a hand into his boxers. He wants Jerome to palm at his stomach, his ribs, his thighs. He squeezes Jerome’s ass, pulls him closer, and knows that Jerome is surprised by his strength by the sound he makes. He gives his hips another experimental thrust, feels Jerome’s tongue dipping into the hollow of his throat, and he _wants_ so badly…

“Hey, what the fuck?” Jerome’s voice breaks through the haze of pleasure and Matt realises he’s shuddering against him. “Are you serious? That was like, two minutes!”

Matt ruts a couple more times, riding out the aftershocks even as his face floods with heat. “Sorry, man,” he says. “Really, sorry, it um...do you want me to…”

“This _was_ your first time,” Jerome says, with dawning comprehension. Matt grimaces, wishing that was truly the reason that he apparently has the worst stamina, _ever_. “Shit, I thought you must’a done it with a couple of guys, at least.”

Matt pushes his glasses back up his nose from where they had slipped, and sighs. He reaches down to press the heel of his hand against Jerome’s dick, through his pants, just to get him to shut up.

**3.**

Apparently Foggy can’t get over the fact that Matt has slept with Hannah. He keeps saying it over and over - “You slept with _Hannah_. Oh my God, _Hannah_ ,” - and then describing his expression, for Matt’s benefit, as one of wide-eyed awe. “Was it amazing?” he asks at one point, in a hushed voice that makes Matt laugh into his pillow.

He’s been lying face down on his bed ever since traipsing back across campus from Hannah’s room and he doesn’t really intend on moving anytime soon.

“It was…” he struggles to find the right words. He thinks of how he got her off, first with his mouth - sucking bruises onto the insides of her thighs before pressing his tongue against her clit, one hand feeling up her body to roll her nipple beneath his thumb - then with his fingers, which he slipped inside her. The second time, she had said his name on a whine, and it had brought him _so_ close, even though she hadn’t had time to touch him yet. He’d almost come just from putting on the condom, telling himself _light touches, light touches…_ “It was pretty good, yeah.”

Foggy lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Stop being modest. I bet you blew each other’s _minds_. And, uh, other things too…”

“Fog _gy_ ,” Matt buries his face further into his pillow. He’s never gotten a blow job in his life, because he knows exactly how _that_ would go - he wouldn’t last two seconds.

Foggy claps him on the back in a moment of friendly solidarity, and Matt can’t help arching into it, just a tiny bit. His hand leaves a warmth that seeps through Matt’s shirt to his skin and he just...he wants more. The feeling of a hand on his, the press of skin against skin. Matt feels like he _needs_ it, like there’s some part of him that’s being denied or neglected when he doesn’t get it. But everything’s always over too soon.

**4.**

Her name’s Faith and she’s got dreads. Matt’s a bit fascinated. He can’t stop playing with them, running them between his fingers, feeling how rough they are, but also weirdly spongy and yeah...Matt’s in love with Faith’s dreads. And Faith’s really great, too.

She likes him touching her. She allows his hands to wander over her scalp, down her back, to fiddle with her navel piercing (Matt loves that, as well - the texture of the metal, warmed by her skin, the sound it makes against her clothes when she moves). Matt thinks he could touch her all day, slowly, leisurely. He sucks her fingers into his mouth and imagines she’s doing the same to him; imagines she’s playing with his nipples even as he pins her wrists above her head, because she deserves for this to be _good_ , which it won’t be if she gets her hands on him. 

He drinks in every sound she makes and takes deep breaths when she hooks her legs around his upper thighs, digs her heels against his ass, and presses a kiss to his cheek. He tunes it out and makes sure to keep his body above hers and not let his cock brush against her stomach. 

“I want you inside me,” she pants against his temple, and a shudder runs through him, but he just wraps her fingers around the bedpost instead, murmuring for her to not let go, and eats her out until she’s almost sobbing, grinding down against his face. “ _Fuck_ , yeah, Matt--”

He presses into her at the last moment, when he knows she’s close anyway, and she hardly seems to notice that he comes on the second thrust, even though he has to hide his face in her hair so she won’t see the redness in it, and how hard he’s swallowing to keep himself from choking out a cry. 

Afterwards, he holds her tightly, and wills her to hold him just as tightly back.

**5.**

It doesn’t usually go like this.

Matt learned after the first couple of times that it’s best if he doesn’t finish first, so he makes sure he rarely does. His partner almost always gets off twice before he does; he listens to them moan, feels them come undone against his palm or into his mouth, tastes them, kisses them, and afterwards he comes from a couple of touches, or a jerk of his hips, or a bite into the meat of his shoulder. And he makes that be enough.

But this guy - and Matt’s sort of hazy on what his name is, which is definitely capital ‘N’, capital ‘G’, Not Good - is fucking up everything Matt thought he knew.

They’d had a few drinks before getting back to Matt’s place, and then the guy (Sam? Sean?) had grabbed another beer from Matt’s fridge, practically chugged it back while Matt stood, leaning against his bedroom door frame and listening. Now, he’s pressing Matt into his mattress, _rubbing_ against him and Matt wants to shove him off, but he’s so fucking hard, and it feels too fucking good.

“Fuck,” the guy says, a few minutes later. “Bit desperate, huh?”

Matt lies beneath him, trying to get his breath back, and feels an unsettling mixture of shame and disappointment rise into his throat. He gets his hands flat against the guy’s chest and pushes until he’s forced away from him.

“Hey,” the guy makes to grab hold of Matt’s arms, but Matt’s too quick - of _course_ he’s too quick, at this and at everything else. He catches the guy’s hands before they can touch him. “Is that _it_?” he asks, and Matt feels spit on his face. 

“You need to leave,” he says, as calmly as he can. “Right now.”

The guy leans closer and Matt can smell the beer on his breath, feel his hard on pressing against his leg. He says, “Fuck you,” and then he goes.

**+1**

Foggy knows that Matt's good at a lot of things - he knew it even before finding out that Matt is a lunatic vigilante that backflips off roofs and shit. But, despite being aware of Matt's many, varied, and majoritively life-threatening talents, not much could have prepared him for how fucking _incredible_ he is at giving head.

It's been a long time coming, really. They'd been dancing around each other since college (well, Matt had been dancing - Foggy's more of a stumbler) and, finally, they hadn't been able to stand it any longer.

Foggy's not entirely sure who made the first move. He thinks it might have been Matt, but Matt probably wouldn't have dared if Foggy hadn't given off some kind of signal, so it's likely that Foggy's pounding heart is as much to blame as anything.

Not that Foggy's complaining. Far fucking from it.

" _Jesus_ ," he hisses, and he's desperate to fist his hands in Matt's hair, but it turns out that Matt's kinkier than expected (another thing Foggy's decidedly _not_ got any complaints about) and so Foggy's hands are resting on the mattress above his head, under instructions not to move. 

Matt pulls off his dick long enough to give him a cat's grin, wide and toothy, and says, "Nah, it's just me."

Foggy stares as Matt sinks back down, lips stretched, and it's fucking _obscene_ , is what it is, that Matt Murdock can suck cock like this and still be able to crack stupid jokes. "You," he manages, even as his head falls back against the pillow. "Are so _lame_." 

Matt hums and beyond the resultant, toe-curling pleasure, Foggy remembers that - "I mean lame as in...that wasn't a jab at you being blind, obviously, I-- _shit_ , that feels good. Oh my God, stop laughing with my dick in your mouth, you are actually--" he wants to say _the worst_ , but is worried that it'll come out sounding like _the love of my fucking life_ , so he cuts himself off and, _fuck it_ , sinks his hands into Matt's hair.

Matt's reaction is...unexpected. He tenses for an instant, and then let's out this noise that Foggy...he wants to call it a _mewl_ , because it's soft and kind of high pitched, and Matt's mouth goes a little slack around Foggy's cock. 

Foggy may stop breathing, just for a second.

"Well," he says. "I definitely wanna hear _that_ again." 

Matt pulls off, again, and sure it had been going great, but Foggy knows what orgasms feel like. What he _doesn't_ know is enough about...whatever this is.

"Foggy--" Matt starts, but Foggy ignores him in favour of sitting up and tugging Matt along with him, so that they end up facing each other. Even having his hands momentarily wrapped around Matt's upper arms seems to do _something_ to him, because for an instant his eyes flutter closed, and a flush creeps up his neck to his face. Foggy looks down between them and sees that Matt is, impossibly, even harder than Foggy. His cock is rigid against his stomach, bobbing slightly, beads of precum sliding down from the head. 

"You've got to let me get my mouth on you," Foggy says, hoping he doesn't sound quite as dumbfounded by the sight as he feels. 

"Fog, I don't--" Matt sounds torn. "It's okay, let me just--" he moves to slide back down onto his front, but Foggy catches hold of him, one eyebrow quirked. And Matt...he _melts_ a little bit, and that's...all Foggy's doing is holding his shoulders and...

Foggy decides it's time to test a theory. 

He leans forward and kisses Matt. It's soft, with Matt's tongue warm against his lips, and Foggy can feel his stubble against his chin, and he will never get enough of this. Not if it's given to him ten times a day for the rest of his life, he will never get enough. But he tries not to let himself get too distracted, because theory testing requires at least some functioning brain capacities - he deepens the kiss, enough for Matt's mouth to turn hungry and crushing, and then pinches one of Matt's nipples between his fingers.

Matt jerks, gasping out, “ _Yeah_ ,” even as he shakes his head and grabs Foggy’s hand, like it’s too much. Like Foggy touching his nipple _once_ is _too much_.

“Could you…” Foggy swallows, mouth dry. “Could you come just from that?” 

Matt’s head drops to Foggy’s shoulder and he starts mouthing softly at his skin, which is distracting as hell, but doesn’t answer Foggy’s question - and Foggy definitely needs an answer, because it’s possible that Matt encompasses more of Foggy’s teenage fantasies than he’d ever dared to hope. “ _Matt_.”

Some of Foggy’s unbridled desperation must get through to him because he sighs, damp into the crook of Foggy’s neck. Foggy can feel how warm his face is, pressed against him, and rubs lightly against the back of his neck, which is equally flushed. Matt shivers and then, to Foggy’s surprise, laughs. “I could, could come from a lot less,” he says, and the stammer isn’t unusual, but Foggy still takes it as a sign of how far gone he is already. “In fact...if you don’t stop that, I--”

Foggy’s hand stills on his nape. “ _Seriously_?”

Matt pulls away, shrugging Foggy off of him, and when he laughs again it sounds far too bitter for Foggy’s liking. “Sorry,” he says. “I know it’s not, not ideal.”

“Not ideal,” Foggy repeats, dazedly. But Matt’s eyes are directed downwards and he’s plucking mindlessly at the bedspread in distracted agitation, and suddenly a lot of things are clicking together in Foggy’s mind, like a code on a safe that’s just been cracked. He thinks about how Matt talks about sex (which he doesn’t do often, but there had been a few choice moments back in college); it’s always okay, but he never seems _satisfied_. Matt moves with an air of discontentment for days after he gets laid - Foggy’s seen it, the way he struggles with himself, as if there’s something under his skin that wants to get out, and he’s felt it too, in the casual touches that become more frequent for a while. Hands lingering for a second longer than necessary on Foggy’s arm as he’s being led from one room to another; pats on the back that are slightly harder, firmer, with fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt; playful pinches to Foggy’s ribs and upper arms. 

Oh. _Oh_ , Matt.

Foggy slides his hands up over Matt’s chest and Matt startles, his cock _twitches_ , before Foggy reaches his face, which he cradles because he once made a promise to himself to never be the guy that treated Matt as if he was made of glass, but this face? Yeah, this face is precious, and Foggy’s handling that shit with care, promise or no promise. 

He runs the pads of his thumbs beneath Matt’s eyes, over his reddened cheeks, and scratches a little up near his hairline and around the back of his ears. Matt’s mouth is open and his breathing is shallow, his eyes flicking over Foggy’s face without seeing it.

“Foggy, please,” Matt whispers after a moment. “I can’t...please, I’m gonna, and I don’t--”

Foggy stops. He can feel his heart beating a quick, heady rhythm in his chest. “This is a sense thing, right? Like, your enhanced sense of touch and all that?”

Matt wets his lips, then nods. 

“Okay." Foggy still doesn’t move his hands, but he doesn’t let go, either. “What’s your recovery time like?” 

Foggy realises, then, that he’d been wrong in assuming that Matt couldn’t get any redder. A fresh wave of heat that Foggy can _see_ rushes through him, bringing with it a flash of humiliated anger that manifests in a frown. Foggy holds on a little tighter, and presses on quickly, “Just tell me - I swear I’m not fucking with you.” He leans forward until his forehead is touching Matt’s, brushes a kiss against his lips. “I want to make this good for you.” 

Matt still looks unsure, but there's a steeliness in his expression, too, so that when he says, "Average," it comes out sounding as much like a challenge as it does a confession. 

Foggy's always liked a challenge.

"Alright," he says, nodding, as a dozen things he'd never really _meant_ to wonder about are provided with explanations. "So...I mean, I'm guessing that the answer to this is gonna be no, but...cock ring?"

"That's not really a question, Foggy."

"Right, um," Foggy bites his lip. "You don't own one, do you?"

Matt gives Foggy his equivalent of a stare; it’s an expression of intense focus that makes Foggy feel thoroughly scrutinised. “No,” he says.

“Right,” Foggy repeats. And then, “Dude, what the _fuck_? I mean, it’s fine, because I have one, but like, you should absolutely have one. Have you even _tried_ one?” Matt shakes his head looking, of all things, _perplexed_ , as if he can’t understand why this is a conversation that they’re having. Foggy’s just angry that it’s not a conversation Matt’s had sooner - as in, with the first person who realised Matt isn’t having the kind of sex that he one hundred percent deserves. 

“Why do _you_ have one?” Matt retorts, as if Foggy owning one is more absurd than Matt not, and yeah, if this turns into an argument Matt is definitely not coming out on top.

“Because sometimes I like to jerk off for more than five minutes? Because it can be hot as hell to _not_ be allowed to come, even when you really want to? Because sometimes I’m with a guy and I want him to fuck me even after he’s come, because that is also something that can be hot as hell?” He's about to add, _because you’re not the only one who can be kinky_ , but then he realises that the ‘hands above your head’ thing was probably less to do with kink and more to do with self-preservation, and that’s just kind of heartbreaking. 

Matt had gone quiet while Foggy talked - even his breathing is soft, practically inaudible - but Foggy doesn’t think it’s from a lack of interest. His thoughts are confirmed when Matt asks, “Did you bring it with you?”

Foggy pulls a face. “‘Fraid not. We’ll have to go to mine.”

“But,” Matt looks unhappy. “You haven’t even…”

“Matt, I literally got myself off before work this morning. I can hold out for the ten minutes it takes to walk from here - plus, however long you last before you beg to be allowed to come.”

Matt makes a low noise in his throat, and his nails move to dig crescents into Foggy’s knee. “There’s not usually time for begging,” he says.

Foggy presses a kiss to the corner of Matt’s mouth. “There will be this time,” he promises.

*******

Matt always looks more at home in Foggy’s apartment than he does in his own - in Foggy’s opinion, anyway. There’s something settling about having him there; a stillness and an ease in the way he takes a moment, grounding himself in reminders of where everything is - Foggy’s TV, his coffee table, the pleather couch that Matt had been begging him to throw out ever since he’d bought it because, in his words, _“Pleather”_.

Eventually, Matt loosens his grip on his cane and props it against the wall. He smiles and it’s a little tight, a little sad. “It’s been a while,” he says. Foggy knows what he means, even though he hasn’t allowed himself to closely examine the fact that the last time Matt was here was a few days before Foggy tugged the mask off of a dying man and found his best friend’s face underneath. He’s forgiven Matt but, apparently, that forgiveness doesn’t extend to inviting Daredevil into his home. At least, it hadn't until today.

Not that the man in Foggy’s living room really _is_ Daredevil. Not in this moment. He looks too much like he did when they first met and it makes swooping nostalgia and what Foggy knows is pure, unadulterated affection, stir in his gut. He touches the back of Matt’s hand, curls their fingers together. “You remember where the bedroom is, right?”

Since sharing a room with Matt, Foggy has developed a habit of keeping his space tidy. The floor is clear, the surfaces uncluttered, and Matt makes his way through the apartment without difficulty. His palm is warm against Foggy’s, his breathing slow and even, his glasses flashing dully in the light from the bare bulb. Foggy wants to kiss him so badly, here, in his home - this place that he’s made for himself because Matt asked him to, because Matt wanted them to be together, _wants_ \- Nelson and Murdock, Murdock and Nelson.

Foggy wonders when he went and got himself so gone for this mess of a man. He wonders when he became a mess, himself, and if it was at around the same time that he started to make sure things were always tidy.

“Get undressed?” he asks when they’re in his room, and Matt obliges. His glasses come off first and he doesn’t look down to unbutton his shirt, doesn’t need to, so Foggy gets to watch his eyes. They’re fixed, unfocused, somewhere around Foggy’s left eyebrow, and Foggy drinks in the sight, locks it down in memory for all the future days when Matt’s on the news or in the office, and Foggy’s not allowed to see them. 

Matt shrugs off the shirt and it’s a sweet tease, a ripple of muscles, a rush of fabric sliding over skin. 

Foggy wants to touch him and make him forget about every fucker that never did. His fingers twitch, his breathing stutters, and he walks across the room to his bedside table. Matt’s completely naked by the time he turns back around, and he’s smiling. 

Foggy thinks, _You’ll be the death of me_ , and puts the cock ring and a condom into Matt’s hands. Matt blinks and turns them over a few times in his fingers.

“Are you sure I need this?” he says, but instead of holding up the cock ring, it’s the condom that he seems unsure about. Somehow, Foggy knows that he’s not asking whether they can fuck without it, but wondering if Foggy really believes that he's going to last long enough to come anywhere but all over himself. It is, admittedly, a delectable image, but not one that Foggy intends on ending the night with. 

“Very sure,” Foggy tells him. “But uh, the cock ring goes on first. You have to be soft."

"Oh," Matt says, and then goes pink. "Better hurry, then. Do you, um...I’ve never worn one before?”

“Right, yeah, let me--” he steps forward and takes it from Matt’s hand. They’re so close that he can feel Matt’s breath on his face, and his heart is beating almost painfully hard in his chest. “It’s silicone,” he says, even though Matt could probably tell from the texture or smell or whatever. “And stretchy, you have to sorta--” he reaches down to cup Matt’s balls and Matt groans and lets his head tip back.

“ _Hurry_ ,” he says, again. “I don’t...you don’t have to explain.”

Foggy takes his word for it and gently, quickly - _light touches, light touches_ \- gets the ring around Matt’s cock and balls. The second he’s done, he kisses Matt’s cheek and runs his hand along the shaft. He gets hard so fast Foggy wouldn’t be surprised if he feels dizzy from it.

“You want me to do the condom, too?” Matt hesitates, probably imagining some time he’d answered that with a _yes_ , only to shake apart seconds later, so Foggy adds, “Trust me.”

Matt nods then, and Foggy doesn’t think he’s ever handled a condom with as much honest to God reverence as he does now, with Matt’s trust like a physical thing in the room, warm and fragile. Foggy thinks of a flower budding for the first time, and then almost laughs, because of course he could have a dick in hand and Matt Murdock would still be able to make him picture fucking _flowers_.

“What’s funny?” Matt asks, like he can hear smiles that don’t even exist yet, laughs that haven’t even happened, and that, for some reason, reminds Foggy of how badly he wants to watch this man fall apart in all the most gorgeous ways. 

“You’d be a sunflower,” he says, knowing it’s true. “Jesus Christ, you’d be a freaking _sunflower_.”

Matt raises his eyebrows, looking a bit amused and a lot bewildered, but Foggy doesn’t give him time to say anything. He puts his hands on Matt's hips and pushes, making Matt stumble back until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Another meaningful shove and he’s lying on his back, giving Foggy the full view of his naked front; the stretchy shine of old scars, the mottled fade of more recent bruises, and the familiar planes of his body - the lines of muscle and trail of hair down from his bellybutton. He’s hard all over; the flat of his stomach is tense, his nipples are pebbled, and his dick…

Foggy’s biting back moans as he strips, knowing that Matt’s listening to the sounds his clothes make as he peels them off and drops them to the floor. When he’s done, he crawls up Matt’s body with his hands and knees pressing into the mattress, and Matt follows his progress with a tilt of his head. Foggy would only have to lower himself an inch and they’d be touching, all along Matt’s torso.

He bends his neck, lets his hair brush against Matt’s face, and says into his ear, “We’re gonna take this slow. That okay with you?”

Matt shudders and Foggy feels fingers dig into his waist. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Foggy gently bites Matt’s earlobe and _knows_ Matt’s mouth has fallen wide open, that he’s gaping at the ceiling, letting out wet gasps. “I want you to tell me everywhere you want to be touched. I don’t care how you react, alright? I don’t care what your body does, or what you think it’s going to do. I’m gonna take care of you.”

Matt swallows and Foggy hears the rasp of his heels dragging along the duvet. “You don’t have--” 

“I know I don’t have to,” Foggy cuts across him and twists Matt’s hair between his fingers, playing with it. “But why the hell would you think I don’t _want_ to? You’re so damn hot, Murdock.” Matt laughs at that, startled and pleased, and Foggy takes the opportunity to reiterate, “Tell me.” 

Matt sighs, and his grip on Foggy’s waist tightens ever so slightly. “Kiss me,” he says. “Kiss my mouth.”

Foggy smiles. “Duh. I was going to do that anyway.”

“Oh.” Something conflicted unfolds across Matt’s face. “Not everyone does. I don’t always let them, while we’re actually...in case...the first time, I…”

Foggy watches him struggle to get the words out, and imagines him fumbling through a first kiss, getting hard without meaning to, blushing to the roots of his hair.

He wants to punch whoever it was, after that first time, who continued to make Matt feel like kissing was something he had to put a limit on. Then, he presses his lips to Matt’s so he doesn’t have to try and talk anymore. Matt lets out a muffled, “ _Mmph_ ,” of surprise and lurches up into it, his tongue insistent, his blunt nails scratching down Foggy’s sides in a way that’s fucking _delicious_.

“God, you’re so good at that,” Foggy praises on a gasp. “So, so good. Tell me what else.” Matt groans and he’s still chasing Foggy’s lips, hovering millimetres away. Foggy says again, damp against Matt’s mouth, “Tell me what else, Matt.”

“Can you touch--I want--”

“What?” Foggy kisses him again, just for a moment. He can’t resist it. Matt’s eyes are screwed shut and there’s colour high on his cheeks. Foggy thumbs at the spots of warmth, and asks, “You want me to touch your dick?”

“N-no,” Matt shakes his head vigorously. “Not yet, not yet.”

“Okay,” Foggy shushes him. “Your nipples, then?”

Matt’s eyes snap open. “Fuck,” he says, “Uh, fuck. _Yes_ , Foggy.”

He looks like he’s ready to come, as if prepared for the fact that he will if Foggy follows through. But Foggy knows better. He rubs the flat of his hand over Matt’s chest, dragging it roughly over one of his nipples.

“I wanna use my tongue,” he says, because it feels important to tell Matt what he’s going to do, to tell him that he wants to do it. “And my teeth.”

“Yes,” Matt hisses. “Do it, I want you to...”

When Foggy sucks Matt’s nipple into his mouth and rolls the other between his fingers, Matt actually cries out, a choked yell that Foggy wants to hear again and again. He laves at Matt’s skin, teeth grazing, until every breath Matt draws is on a hitching whine, until his movements are shocky and disjointed, until Foggy’s drooling.

“Your _mouth_ ,” Matt manages. “Foggy, your fucking mouth.”

Foggy grins against Matt so he can feel it and, _God_ , Foggy feels like he’s _glowing_. He doesn’t know where the ground is anymore, he’s floating so damn high. “You want me to put it on something else?” he asks. 

“Shit,” Matt says, eyes going wide. His hips buck, once, out of his control, and his dick presses hard into Foggy’s stomach. And then, before Foggy can properly register what’s happening, Matt’s shrinking back, slamming his ass back down against the covers, and pushing at Foggy. “Shit, _no_ , sorry--”

“Matt,” Foggy says. " _Matt_ ," he seizes Matt's wrists, circles them with his fingers, and pins them just above his head. "If you want me to get off of you now," he says, "I will. But I promise you, everything's okay."

“But, I _touched_ you.”

“And did you come?”

Matt takes a moment, eyes darting uncertainly. “No.”

“No,” Foggy repeats, letting Matt go and brushing a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. “Do you want to stop?” Slowly, Matt shakes his head. “I get the feeling you wouldn’t mind me sucking you off though, huh?”

“I’ve never,” Matt sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “No ones ever done that for me. To me. Whatever.” 

Foggy had figured as much. It doesn’t stop the unpleasant lurch in his belly though, because, okay, a lot of people in the world haven’t received head, but Foggy doubts that many of them have taught themselves to give it to other people like fucking pros. 

“Well, I definitely owe you,” he says, trying to sound offhand about it and pretty sure he’s failing. “Maybe you can give me a few pointers.” 

A laugh bursts from Matt and he pats aimlessly at Foggy’s face, his thumb catching briefly on his lip. “I can’t imagine you’ll need any.”

“Oh?” Foggy turns his head to kiss Matt’s palm. “Have I been pretty good so far, then?”

Matt hums, sobering, although his eyes are still crinkled around the edges. “Something like that.”

“Wow,” Foggy says, dryly. “Glad to know I’m making an impression.”

Another laugh, giddy, Matt’s head tipped back into the pillow, his fingers still playing lightly over Foggy’s face. Foggy catches one in his mouth for an instant and digs in his teeth, making the laugh stutter. Then, he ducks down, fits his hands snugly around Matt’s hips, and wraps his lips around his cock. 

As far as Foggy has always been concerned, cock is just cock. There’s nothing not to like, particularly, but nothing very special about them, either. Matt isn’t exempt; he’s got a pretty package, it’s true, but Foggy has no real reason to like it more than any other (apart from the fact that it belongs to Matt, obviously).

When he gets it in his mouth, though…

Jesus _Christ_.

Matt’s feet are flat against the bedcovers on either side of Foggy’s head and his toes _curl_ , his back arches, his fingers pull once, hard, on Foggy’s hair and then, in an instant of visible self-restraint, he grabs fistfuls of the duvet. His hips are moving in minute thrusts, each jerk upwards followed by a more forceful one down, and nuh-uh, Foggy’s not having any of that. Matt’s had this coming for _way_ too long.

He grabs Matt’s ass with both hands and _lifts_ , encouraging him to fuck his mouth, and _yeah_. He’s choking on Matt’s dick and it’s one of the most incredible things that’s happened to him in forever.

“Fuck,” Matt says, and he sounds...the only word Foggy can think of is ‘devastated’, and he just relaxes further, opens up his throat a little more. “Fu-fuckfuck _fuck_. I’m gonna come, _shit_ , Foggy, I’m gonna, I’m gonna--”

Foggy pulls off and Matt _wails_ , thrusting up into the air, and his face is red and blotchy, his hair’s a mess, he looks like he’s going to sob or scream, but he doesn’t. He just writhes for a few moments longer while Foggy pets his thighs and his ass and mumbles incoherent words and kisses into the taut expanse of his stomach, which relaxes a little further with each second.

“Gonna open myself up,” Foggy tells him. “Gonna get myself wet and ride you until you can’t stand it.” Matt doesn’t answer except to throw an arm over his eyes and let out a shaky exhale, his whole body twitching, and Foggy grabs the lube from his bedside table, slicks up his fingers. “I’ll hold you down, yeah? I’ll make you take it for so long that you’ll be _desperate_ \--” he gets up on his knees, presses at his hole and feels the muscle give. Matt lets out a noise that’s quiet and needy, and shit, he can hear this. He can hear the sound of Foggy’s fingers entering his own body, the wetness of the lube, the stretch. “You want to be inside me? You want that?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Matt says, and that’s...well, it’s pretty clear. Foggy lines himself up, get’s his hands on Matt’s chest, thumbs circling his nipples for good measure, and sinks down. He feels Matt fill him up slowly, inch by inch, and he knows he didn’t quite prep himself enough, but then maybe he _did_ , because the burn is perfect. Foggy breathes through his nose, steadying, and then rocks forward and feels sparks shoot up his spine. Matt’s fingers don’t seem to know what to do with themselves, and they scrabble and squeeze randomly at Foggy’s waist, his belly, his ass, and all the while Matt’s got Foggy’s name catching over and over behind his teeth. “Fog--f-foggy, _Foggy_ \--"

Foggy pinches the skin over Matt’s ribs and tugs at his earlobe. He brings Matt’s hand to his mouth and sucks on two of his fingers, lapping at the skin between them, his saliva sliding down the back of Matt’s hand. He pulls Matt’s hair, scratches and rubs at his scalp, feels him shake and shake and shake. 

“If you want to come,” he says, “You’ll have to beg me, okay?”

It’s ironic, Foggy is somehow coherent enough to think, that it’s this that sends Matt over the edge - too soon for him to get out another word.

He surges upright, arms moving to crush Foggy to him, and his forehead falling to rest on Foggy’s breastbone as he comes on breaths that hitch around a deep moan. The sudden movement forces him impossibly deeper into Foggy, so all he can feel is Matt, Matt, Matt, on every side, in every empty space, and his dick is trapped between their bodies, and the friction is so Goddamn sweet.

*******

Afterwards, once Foggy’s cleaned his own come from Matt's belly with a damp cloth and taken off the cock ring (which he is already starting to handle with worrying levels of deference), they lie together under the covers. Matt had complained half-heartedly at the lack of silk sheets, but fallen quiet once Foggy got his arms around him, tugging him as close as physically possible.

“Sorry I, didn’t manage that last, uh, request,” Matt says, easing his way into the comfortable silence that’s fallen. 

Foggy smirks and doesn’t stop tracing patterns across Matt’s temples and down over his cheeks. “There’s always next time.”

Matt bites Foggy’s chest and it’s achingly soft, but Foggy says, “Ow!” anyway. It makes Matt laugh, and Foggy finds himself being tackled, until Matt’s on top of him with their fingers locked together.

“I love sex with you,” Matt says, and he looks like he’s tasting an idea - a _possibility_ that’s never occurred to him before, that he never thought he’d have. 

“Cock ring, buddy,” Foggy says, because it’s not _him_ that’s giving Matt a revelation. Matt could’ve been having great sex for the whole of his life if that scrap of silicone had entered it a bit sooner.

“No,” Matt’s shaking his head and tightly squeezing Foggy’s hands. “No, Foggy. _You_.”

Foggy stares at Matt, at how he’s straddling his waist, with his smile as open as Foggy’s ever seen it. 

He knows he can’t take Matt’s word for it, not quite yet, but when Matt kisses him with their palms still touching - the sleepy kind, the _let me stay over_ kind - he figures that it’s only a matter of time.

**Author's Note:**

> 1: Matt/OFC (Underage)  
> 2: Matt/OMC  
> 3: Matt/OFC (off-screen - it's basically Matt & Foggy)  
> 4: Matt/OFC  
> 5: Matt/OMC (Dubcon)  
> +1: Matt/Foggy


End file.
